Once upon a december
by JD-HIV
Summary: PG13 mild violence... I don't own any of the chariceters... ToadMortimer is a child and is in an orphanage and has a dream of what he thinks is his former life... I DID RUN THIS ONE THROUGH A SPELL CHECK! So plz... R


**_Once Upon a December_**

**__**

* * *

Dancing bears, painted wings,

Things I almost remember,

And a song, someone sings,

Once upon a December,

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_**London, England 1979** _

The tiny figure huddled in the corner under the stairs shivering from the cold and starving of hunger, scared out of his mind of what the head master was going to do if she found him. She most likely would, she knew where he slept and hid all the time. He gasped as he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He didn't mean to do anything wrong. But he was hungry and no one had given him anything in three days. He had gone to the kitchen the previous night pleading for food, but the cooks just laughed at him. He had gone to the kitchen after 'lights out' and had stolen some stale bread and a glass of water. The head master found the empty glass in the sink the next morning and right away assumed it was him. It didn't matter if it was him or not. He got blamed for everything, even if he didn't do it. So there he was, huddled in the corner of his 'room' hiding from the head master. All of a sudden the head master ripped the door wide open and yanked him out by the scruff of his neck.

"There you are you daft little creature." She said as she lifted him off the ground by the back of his shirt, strangling him like a noose. She threw him onto the floor of the living room and locked the door so he couldn't get out. The two boys that where sitting in the living room at the time, sat down on the couch and decided to watch the show. It was always entertaining to them to see him get beat on. The head master took the belt off the shelf above the old fireplace and folded it in half.

"Look, the muties getting beat on again." He heard one of the boys laugh.

"What the matter mutie… gonna start crying?" The other laughed. "Look, Mutie Morties gonna start crying like a little baby girl." Mortimer Toynbee felt his eyes start to water, but blinked them back. 'I can take this' he thought. 'I'm seven; I'm a big boy now. I'm not going to cry anymore.' The head master walked back over to him with the belt in her hands. She then took him and threw him over to the big leather chair. He knew what to do. This had happened many times before. He bent over and put his hands on the seat of the chair, exposing his back to her. She still wasn't amused. She reached for him and ripped his thick sweater off, tearing all the buttons off and pointed at the chair. He went back over and leaned on it again. The first lash hurt. So did the next, and the next and the few after that. His whole back was red and bleeding and numb so that by the time she had got to thirty, he could no longer even feel it. He refused to cry, much to the boy's dismay. They had been looking forward to seeing the mutie cry. He didn't though. He refused to reward them with it. He knew they all got a kick out of it. Some of the older kids even got off on it. He didn't like being everyone's butt monkey. He was sick of it. He couldn't wait to get out. The head master looked down on him with a sneer.

"And don't you think about doing something like that again boy, or the belt will be the least of your problems." Mortimer nodded and went and hid back under the stairs. He always heard the girls of the orphanage whisper about how much his beatings must have hurt before they'd start giggling. It didn't hurt as much as they thought. When he was two years old, and had received his first beating, he had discovered that when his body was cut it produced some kind of slimy liquid that aloud him to heal faster. He could already feel the liquid forming on his back and healing the wounds. Come nightfall he would be all right. Mortimer sighed and curled up into a ball on the floor and fell asleep.

Most times when Mortimer was asleep, he'd dream about the kids making fun of him or beating him or the head master and her assistant beating on him. But tonight… tonight was different. For the first time in his life, he had a nice dream, a dream of a home. A home where he belonged. He dreamed that he was being carried in strong arms, threw a mansion of some sort. He was happy. No one made fun of him or beat him. The strong arms put him down on a padded carpet in the living room and he looked up to see the smiling face of a man. He looked around the room with curiosity and decided to look around. He tried to stand up, but found that he didn't have the balance to, so he crawled around. He pulled himself to a standing position at a table that was across the room. He smiled when he saw what was on it. He liked it. It was a jar. Well actually it was more of a vase but it had a lid on it. It was beautiful. It was purple and white and had bears on the stripe around the middle. 'They look like their chasing each other' He thought before shaking his head. 'No, they were dancing.' He smiled. The bears weren't his favorite part of it though. No. His favorite part was the white swan on the top. Its wings where spread so that someone could lift the lid off with ease. He then was lifted off the ground with a squeal and was spun around by the man. When he looked around again, there where hundreds of people dancing like in a fairy tale story. But then things took a dark turn, and his dream, turned into another one of his nightmares. The mansion was being attacked. He didn't know by who or why. He saw the man that he had come to like, die at the hands of a stout man with black hair and blue eyes. His left eye was white though and it had a scar running through it. It frightened him. All of a sudden he felt someone grab onto him and then…

Mortimer sat straight up from sleep, his eyes wide. He looked around and saw that he was in his room. Or to be more precise, he was under the stairs. It was now dark out, and his back was fully healed. He was amazed that no one had bothered him all day. He sighed. What had the dream meant? Did it mean anything? Did that actually happen? Or was his mind making up things so that he would feel that at some point in time he was loved? He shook his head. That wasn't possible. He was never and will never be loved. He was a freak. A mutant. And that's all he'll ever be. Never more.

* * *

Some one holds me safe and warm,

Horses dance threw a silvery storm,

Figures dancing gracefully,

Across my memory,

And a song, someone sings,

Once upon a Dece-hember

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End file.
